


Redamancy

by apliddell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Courtship, Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Date Night, Fluff, Joyful sex, M/M, Praise Kink, Romance, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, soft top Aziraphale, the rewards of being loved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: Aziraphale has noticed something about Crowley, and he's wondering if Crowley's noticed also.





	Redamancy

“Good?” Crowley looked over the top of his shades so that he could properly appreciate his angel. 

Aziraphale sighed round his spoon, then set it beside his dish with a little hum of contentment, “Scrumptious, my dear. Exquisite.” 

“Good,” Crowley savored the last swallow of his wine and smugly watched Aziraphale dab his mouth with his napkin and unbutton his bottom-most waistcoat button. “Maybe you’d like a cigarette.”

“You know I would, serpent dearest,” Aziraphale finished his own wine. “But I haven’t in nearly seventy years, so I won’t.” Crowley opened his mouth, but Aziraphale continued, raising his voice slightly, “Are you about to tell me you’ve got half a packet of Silk Cut back at your place?”

Crowley grinned sheepishly, caught out pre-temptation, “How’d you know?”

“You said that last time,” Aziraphale bounced an eyebrow and poured them both a little more wine, “I’m beginning to think it’s a euphemism I’m unfamiliar with.” 

Crowley’s grin broadened, “Oh, not consciously. Perhaps it should be. I’m good at inventing euphemisms,” He tapped his glass against Aziraphale’s and paused before actually sipping his wine. 

Aziraphale smiled, “Are you waiting for me to tell you that you aren’t meant to touch glasses when you toast?” 

Crowley had a little swallow of wine, “And you’re about to tell me that I’m about to tell you that you say that every time.”

Aziraphale laughed, “Oh you know me too well.” 

Crowley stretched out a leg under the table to bump the toe of his shoe against Aziraphale’s, “Just the right amount I’d say, Angel. Just nearly the perfect amount.” 

“Is that what we’re toasting to?” Aziraphale raised his glass, “The perfect amount?”

“The perfect amount,” Crowley agreed. “Suits me.” And they touched their glasses together again and drank. 

…

“What shall we do now, loveliest?” Aziraphale laced his fingers in Crowley’s as they left the restaurant. 

“Oh, I’m not bothered,” Crowley bent to sniff the rose pinned to Aziraphale’s lapel. “Although I do happen to know of an open-air Brahms concert beginning in about,” he consulted his watch, “Twenty minutes. If that’s something that interests any parties present.” 

Aziraphale fairly sparkled his answer, “Ohhh yes, please!” 

“I thought you might take an interest in that,” Crowley had not had the Bentley valeted but nonetheless, the valet pulled the Bentley up to their bit of kerb and got out, looking rather confused. “Much obliged,” said Crowley tipping him nicely for the inconvenience. He went round to open the door for Aziraphale, “In you get, Angel.” 

Aziraphale slid in, “Thank you, my dear.” 

When Crowley got in, the Bentley immediately began blaring Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy. “Mind your own business,” Crowley turned the volume knob all the way down, but the volume didn’t budge. 

“Oh never mind,” said Aziraphale indulgently. “It’s quite catchy,” he tried to hum along. 

“ _ Don’t _ encourage him,” said Crowley, but the music only got louder. 

…

  
  


They sat at the top of the amphitheatre in the very back row, and Crowley tossed a little miracle around to keep anyone from sitting too near them. There wasn’t a force on Earth that could keep Aziraphale from chatting in the concert, and he did so get flustered by shushes and shirty looks. After six thousand years, Crowley found himself in a position to admit that Aziraphale’s expansive gabbling improved any piece of music. 

“After you, my dear,” said Aziraphale when they reached their seats, and Crowley slid in, keeping hold of Aziraphale’s hand and miracled a nice cushion onto the seat beside his. “Oh, thank you, Crowley! You’re too kind.” 

“Don’t you go letting on,” Crowley said fondly, offering Aziraphale his flask. 

“Oh go on then, just a nip,” said Aziraphale just as fondly, and when they had both nipped and nipped well, the music began. Aziraphale was instantly enchanted. He swayed and hummed along to Opus 39 No 15, his eyes glowing like the fat golden moon as it rose in the velvety shadow-blue sky. Crowley had to look away to hide his foolish smile. 

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale pressed a hand to his heart and pushed up his sleeve with the other hand, “Look, I’ve got gooseflesh.” 

Crowley pet Aziraphale’s exposed skin, “Yeah, so you do.”

“It’s so beautiful,” Aziraphale sank back against Crowley’s chest and looked down at the pianist on stage through his opera glasses, “Oh look at her face. She looks transported. That focus. That pure devotion to the moment at hand is.” He sighed, “Just sublime.” He cocked his head to smile at Crowley, “Such a lovely thing for us to share, my dear. You’re so good to me.”

Crowley tightened his arms about Aziraphale’s waist, “I’m glad you’re enjoying the music, Angel.”

“And  _ you _ . It really is a love song of an evening, isn’t it, Crowley?” Aziraphale found Crowley’s hand and kissed it while he waited for Crowley to answer. 

It took a little longer for Crowley to scrape together a reply than usual, “Er. Erm--ha that tickles!--how’d’y’mean, Angel?”

“Oh  _ you _ know, don’t you, my dear? I know you planned it all for me, didn’t you, my sweetest darling. There’s something delicious in the air, wouldn’t you say?” Aziraphale sniffed rapturously, “You can smell the rose garden tucking itself in for bed just down the hill. Mmm and you yourself, of course. You’ve got a little moonlight in your hair and,” Aziraphale reached up and lowered Crowley’s shades, “stars in your eyes.” 

“You--” Crowley’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “You’re accusing me of hanging the moon and stars for you now, Angel?” 

Aziraphale smiled, “Mmmno, but you did hang them, didn’t you, my love?” He lowered his voice, “and you’d hang a few more if I asked for them, wouldn’t you?” 

“Fllngkmk,” said Crowley, squirming in his seat and trying to adjust himself surreptitiously. 

“ _ Such _ a romantic.” Aziraphale turned into Crowley’s arms and kissed him. There was a languorous demand in that kiss that made Crowley’s toes curl, and Aziraphale’s hand crept up Crowley’s thigh before it paused suddenly and gave him a knowing sort of squeeze, “Oho, now what have we here?” Aziraphale murmured, drumming his fingers lightly on Crowley’s erection. 

“You know what it issss, Angel!,” Crowley jumped when Aziraphale squeezed him a little tighter. “Keep on like that, and you’ll definitely discorporate me, Azzzziraphale!” 

“Oh my goodness,” Aziraphale tutted, “We’d best get ourselves home to look after this, hadn’t we, dearest?” 

“Now?” Crowley glanced toward the stage, where the pianist was going into the third piece. “What about the show?”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s jaw, “My love, when I’ve had you as many thousands of times as I’ve been to a concert, perhaps I’ll neglect the possibility of the former in favour of the latter, but until then…”

Crowley let out a wild sort of giggle, “So in ten years or so when we’ve done it about a thousand times, you’ll make me sit through the concert with a stiffy?” 

Aziraphale laughed, “Oh Crowley, I really don’t think a thousand times’ll take that long, do you?” 

Crowley did a little mental arithmetic, “Well. Maybe not the first thousand.”

“I hope not. Hold onto me,” Aziraphale tightened Crowley’s arm still wrapped about his waist and there was a rush of warm wind and Crowley realised dizzily that they were sitting on his bed in his flat. He knew he hadn’t made it up when he left it, but it was now neatly made up. Even the pillows had been fluffed. 

“Frivolous, Angel. Very frivolous,” Crowley took off his shades and began to kick off his shoes. 

“I’d rather call it indulgent,” Aziraphale removed his jacket. “Anything for you.” 

They shed their clothes very quickly and when they were naked together, Aziraphale turned to Crowley with quite an interesting expression. An air of smug eagerness, an air of  _ guess what I’ve got behind my back _ . It was the sort of look that frequently preceded an appalling magic trick. 

Crowley couldn’t help laughing, “Going to tell me what’s on your mind, Angel?” 

“Can’t you guess?” Aziraphale eased Crowley back against his pillows and kissed him, “Isn’t it obvious?” 

Crowley’s guessing faculties were diminished significantly by the warm graze of Aziraphale’s lips on his skin, and the only answer he could really make was a distracted sort of humming. He felt it was specific enough under the circumstances.

“Actually,” said Aziraphale conspiratorially to Crowley’s collarbone, “my dear, clever darling, I think I’ve noticed something, and I’m wondering if you’ve noticed too.” 

“Noticed?” Crowley looked about him stupidly. “Where? Is it a good thing or a bad thing?”

Aziraphale laughed, “Oh I think it has the potential to be just as scrumptious as you always are, my dear,” and he laved a few kisses down Crowley’s throat. 

Crowley squirmed under the attention, “Horrendous tease.”

“Does this count as teasing?” Aziraphale sucked at Crowley’s pulse, dragged fingertips through his chest hair. “I think I might adore you too much to tease you, Crowley dearest. The way you mean, anyway. Teasing you is only teasing myself really, isn’t it?” And he grazed Crowley’s nose with his, as if in demonstration. 

“Aziraphale,” said Crowley plaintively. 

“If you want to kiss me, then kiss me. I’m right here.” There was no denying that. Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s breath against his own lips when he spoke. Crowley craned up his chin and kissed Aziraphale hungrily, cupped his head in both hands, roughed his curls. 

Aziraphale drew back a little, “Tell me what you want, my sweet and only love. Let me hear you say it, Crowley. Please?” 

“Flllngk,” said Crowley and shivered. 

“In your own time,” Aziraphale kissed his cheek, “I’ve got all night.” He clasped Crowley’s hand, kissed his wrist, “Though I do have a breakfast engagement.” 

Crowley laughed, “With me!” 

“I wouldn’t disappoint you for anything. Particularly not before breakfast.” Aziraphale kissed up Crowley’s forearm, then down his belly and paused to luxuriate in Crowley’s answering squirming, “You still haven’t told me what you want, dearest. Maybe you’d like me to guess?”

Crowley nodded vigorously. 

“Maybe you’d like my hands?” Aziraphale offered, tracing Crowley’s erection with his fingertips. “Or my mouth?” He kissed the head and continued with his lips whispering against Crowley’s skin and leaving delectable tingles in their wake, “Or maybe you’d like to sit astride me and ride me til you spill all over me?” 

“Mmmnph!” agreed Crowley, thumping his head against his pillow. A fussy expression flickered over Aziraphale’s face and he waved a hand to pad the headboard. Crowley grinned and bounced his eyebrows, “Don’t fancy fucking my brains out, Angel?”

“Not literally, my dear,” Aziraphale put an abrupt end to the conversation by taking Crowley’s cock into his mouth. Aziraphale bobbed and slurped ruthlessly for some time. Crowley moaned and clutched at the blankets and tried not to kick. 

Aziraphale pulled off suddenly and looked up at Crowley through his raised knees, his eyes bright, his mouth wet and pink and swollen, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, dearest?” 

Crowley considered trying to think of a clever response but gave the enterprise up quickly, “I hope so!”

“Sit up, Crowley. I think I want to look up at you,” Aziraphale flopped onto his back next to Crowley, curled toward him, nuzzled his ear, “I do love to look up at you in the midst of it all, my love.” 

Once he was properly astride Aziraphale, Crowley had the presence of mind to grow himself a cascade of red waves, which he fluffed and tossed to make Aziraphale smile. 

“You’re  _ so _ pretty, my love,” Aziraphale looked so soft up at Crowley that he nearly fell off. 

He rocked in place and shimmied his shoulders instead, “In you get, Angel.” 

“No need to rush me,” Aziraphale slid his hands over Crowley’s hips and cupped his bottom, “By the by, have you noticed what I’ve noticed yet?” 

Crowley opened his mouth to answer, but was distracted by the entrance of warm, slippery angelic fingers and so only shook his head. 

“Maybe it’ll come to you,” and Aziraphale flexed his fingers so delightfully that Crowley couldn’t even hiss at him for teasing. 

_ I’m stupid with fucking, so if you want me to know, you’ll have to tell me _ is what Crowley intended to say but Aziraphale began to push into him just as he opened his mouth to say it, so what came out was closer to, “Aaaaghh mmmmmnohhhhyessssss!” 

Under him, Aziraphale was flushed and sweating and his eyes were shut, his lips ajar so that the pink tip of his tongue was just visible. He looked unbearably sweet. Crowley rolled his hips experimentally and--finding that it was excellent--rolled again harder and flipped his hair so that it swooped down against Aziraphale’s torso, raising gooseflesh under it. 

Crowley leaned forward to clutch Aziraphale’s shoulders for leverage, “I thought you wanted to look at me.” 

Aizraphale’s eyes flew open at that, and he pulled at Crowley’s wrist, “Kiss me!” 

When Crowley leaned in for the kiss, Aziraphale pushed his hand between them to squeeze Crowley’s cock, and Crowley squirmed, shuddered, gasped, lost all the rhythm he’d established rolling his body against Aziraphale’s. But Aziraphale picked it up, rocking up hard to meet Crowley and pressing wet, soft-mouthed almost-kisses to any bit of Crowley he could reach. 

“Ahhh,” he moaned reverently against Crowley’s jaw. “Mmmmm.” And he thrust decisively and squeezed Crowley’s scrotum. Crowley came, yelling and quaking and thrashing his sweaty red waves all over them both. Aziraphale hugged Crowley through two aftershocks, the second of which sent him off on his own orgasm. 

Giddy with hormones and still dizzyingly hard, Crowley sort of melted off Aziraphale onto the bed, and they joined hands and caught their breaths in unison. 

Presently Aziraphale miracled a remarkably absorbent handkerchief and tidied them up. 

“Well,” Aziraphale fell back onto the mattress next to Crowley and began to toy with his hair, “I’m famished!” 

Crowley burst out laughing, “I wasn’t expecting you to say that somehow.” 

“I can’t think why not,” said Aziraphale trying to look stern about the laughing. Unfortunately, as he was spooning Crowley and positively shining with afterglow, he couldn’t manage to look very stern. 

“Mmmwell Angel, be a lamb and plait my hair--the fishtail, you know what I like--and I’ll cook you. Erm,” Crowley hadn’t tried to cook in over a hundred years, and his most recent attempt had been more like a little demonic mischief than genuine intent to provide sustenance. He cast about for something simple, “An egg.” 

Aziraphale miracled a hairbrush and a bit of black ribbon, “Deal.” 

…

  
  


“Shit,” said Crowley, fanning at the smoking pan with the sleeve of his dressing gown. “Damn it! Pass me another egg.” 

Aziraphale handed over another egg, “They haven’t all been unsalvageable. Stop disappearing them over every little thing.” Aziraphale was still distractingly nude. It made things difficult.

“Pardon me, Angel, but not unsalvageable isn’t exactly how I wanted this evening to end.” 

Aziraphale rather simpered and stroked Crowley’s arm, “My dear boy, you are so good to me. Always looking after me.”

Crowley flushed and prodded the egg in the pan with his spoon so that the yolk burst and went everywhere, “Because I made you watch me burn four eggs?” 

Aziraphale sidled up even nearer and rubbed his hand up and down Crowley’s back. Crowley thought perhaps he could evaporate into the gentle friction of that hand. 

“My love, you always look after me. You always have. You are a font of indomitable kindness.”

Crowley flushed so hard he thought his ears might catch fire. He bent down and whispered to the egg in the pan, “Tidy up; tidy up now if you know what’s good for you.” The egg yolk flowed back to the center of the white and reconstituted itself into a perfect golden-yellow dome. Crowley sprinkled salt and pepper on it and then, recalling that he had neither an implement with which to remove the egg from the pan nor any dishes, he clicked his fingers and turned the pan into a blue and white porcelain plate and handed it to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale kissed Crowley on the cheek and tucked into the egg with a fork that Crowley had not handed him. “Mmmmm,” he hummed with pleasure as if he were sampling one of his posh little mousselines at the Ritz. “Delicious.” 

Crowley leaned into the contact and fiddled with the ribbon tied on the end of his plait, “I’m starting to think you’re flattering me, Angel.”

“I’m not, though,” said Aziraphale earnestly through a mouthful. “I’ve been thinking lately how best to. You know,” he waved a hand between the two of them. “And I decided that as you’re already excellent at it, I’ll try taking a leaf from your book. So I try and reflect back to you what you do for me. I must say it’s going swimmingly! It does take a little adjusting, since our areas of interest don’t overlap perfectly. You’re always feeding me the loveliest things, but you don’t adore food in quite the same way, so I’ve had to find other-”

“You mean I stuff you, so you stuff me?” 

_ Oh _ really _ , Crowley! _ is what Crowley expected Aziraphale to say. What he actually said, with quite a coy bounce of the eyebrows, was, “Funny you should mention that little trade-off, my dear. I had decided that to reciprocate in areas where our ah pleasures are not perfectly symmetrical, I would just try and make it plain to you how very much I enjoy and appreciate all the lovely things you do for me.” Here Aziraphale paused to fold the last of his egg into his mouth with relish, then daintily dabbed at his lips with a napkin he had procured himself, “...mmm! And I discovered something rather marvellous. I’ve been hinting at it all evening, since I decided to have a little experiment to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. Do you know what it is I discovered, my dear?” Aziraphale’s smile was unbearably sweet and eager with still that little edge of smugness, and it gave Crowley a fluttery feeling in his tummy to look at him. 

“I expect you’ll tell me, Angel.”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and kissed it, “I’ve noticed that when I tell you how dear and sweet and loving and  _ good _ you are, it has. A very specific physical effect on you.” 

Crowley leaned back against the stove and digested that briefly, “Are you saying.” He paused. Aziraphale was nodding encouragingly. “You’re saying I.”   
  


“You get excited.” 

Crowley fought and bested the urge to hide his face in his hands, “I think that is a thing about myself that I. Did not need to know.”

Aziraphale gathered Crowley to him and hugged him, “But it’s wonderful, you see! That you’re so er. Tenderhearted in this very particular way. Because it makes a sort of. Amplifier. Our care for each other, I mean. Even more so because of the afterglow! Just think of tonight. 

“You do something simple enough like take me to a lovely dinner and a show. I tell you how delighted I am by your thoughtfulness. You start to feel rather. Amorous. We come back here and. Enjoy each other.” Aziraphale’s cheeks pinked prettily, “Make love. And I get to tell you how divine it is to touch you and hold you and spend time with you and here we are splashing about in affection like ducks in the rain! We don’t just volley the feeling back and forth between us a bit, we. Cultivate it. Grow it.”

“Goodness. You’ve really thought a lot about this, Angel.”

Aziraphale began to stroke Crowley’s back again, “How could I not?”

“You should write a book.” 

“Mmm, perhaps I will. I feel as if I’ve unlocked some sort of cosmic secret.” 

Crowley shifted a bit in Aziraphale’s arms to lay his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, “Yeah?”

Aziraphale kissed his hair, “Yes! Because love shared is. Compounded. You see. Don’t you, darling?”

Crowley shut his eyes, leaned into the bliss, “Yeah, Angel. Of course I do.” 


End file.
